My Name is Searching, Since You Stole My Only Soul
by Illyriarocks
Summary: Dismissed by the CIA, a lost and confused Sharon Carter has been assigned to shadow an equally lost Bucky in the Tennessee mountains. Embittered due to the end of SHIELD, Sharon expects to find an emotionless assassin, but instead discovers a kindred spirit of sorts. While bonding, the duo find themselves stalked by the mysterious Crossbones Killer.
1. Chapter 1: Sharon

"**My Name is Searching, Since You Stole My Only Soul"**

SHARON I

Sharon Carter had quite the illustrious career. She used to be a decorated S.H.I.E.L.D agent, and was highly regarded for being the niece of the woman who started the organization. Nepotism, sure, but she didn't mind. Part of her enjoyed the privileges her biology afforded her. One such privilege was being assigned protection detail to Steve Rogers, a man she and many of her friends and coworkers loved and respected immensely. That was, until her personal hero unmasked the horrific truth: her beloved place of employment was in fact a reborn WWII Nazi organization bent on achieving a fascist version of " worldwide peace." On a more personal level, she learned that Brock Rumlow, a one-time fling at the start of their careers and her closest friend at work, was secretly a terrorist. S.H.I.E.L.D. may have been a corrupt terrorist organization under the surface, but it was still S.H.I.E.L.D. to her and countless other agents who were unaffiliated with Pierce and his cronies and unaware of the malevolent on-goings. Coulson and Hand just to name a few. Romanoff especially. Sharon took a job at the CIA, but after a few weeks that, too, crumbled. Her S.H.I.E.L.D. training told her that it was okay to bend a few rules to get results when the situation called for it. She'd tortured a suspect to near death to obtain information about the whereabouts of the Winter Soldier for Steve. Her superiors didn't take kindly to that and almost had her arrested had Tony Stark and Maria Hill not interceded on her behalf. Everything she lost was, in large part, due to Steve's involvement with the government task force. And part of her resented Captain America for that. A small part, but a part nonetheless. Somewhat ironically, the man who had a large part in taking down her place of employment was the only man who'd give her a job. Currently, Sharon found herself sitting in the darkened kitchen of a house in the Tennessee mountain range. Secluded, existentially and physically. Much like her current quarry. Of all the ops she'd carried out while an agent, Sharon never pictured herself on a mission from Captain America to shadow an amnesiac, existentially confused super-soldier with a bionic arm for over a month. Through her observations, Sharon found that the man known as James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes was largely absent. In his place was an empty shell of a man who only knew how to take orders and eliminate targets efficiently and stealthily. A machine, almost. A glove HYDRA could insert whomever they wished into. A hammer with which the fascists could destroy their opponents. Sharon almost pitied him, then remembered that he was responsible for the death of Director Fury. Her grip tightened on the forty caliber pistol she hid under the table.


	2. Chapter 2: Coffee Talk

"**Coffee Talk"**

_There's an unbelievably gorgeous woman in my kitchen, _the Winter Soldier mused, hiding in the shadows of the hallway. His programming (_brainwashing? Wasn't that really what it was, Buck? Who is Bucky again?)-_ no, his training- had prepared him for just such an eventuality. S.H.I.E.L.D. He'd recognize the hard-ass demeanor anywhere. Every instinct was yelling, shrieking, at him to just shoot this woman and be done with it, but instead he slowly sauntered into the kitchen.

"You're trespassing," the Winter Soldier smirked. "I've killed for far less."

"If you wanted me dead, I would be," she countered.

"True. You've been tailing me for weeks now."

"S.H.I.E.L.D. has an interest in you."

"S.H.I.E.L.D. is gone. Captain America sent you, didn't he?"

"So what if he did?"

The soldier collapsed into the chair opposite this too-composed blonde. He noticed her fingers flinching, her index finger tightening around the trigger of her weapon.

"I once punched a hole clean through a man's chest," he remarked, glancing to his bionic arm. "I would suggest dropping the gun," he added coldly. "Name?"

"Agent 13," she blinked.

_Why the hell would he care?_

"Captain America called me a name once."

"James Buchanan-"

He grabbed the nape Agent 13's neck and shoved her face into the tabletop.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Agent Sharon Carter…"

"Carter?"

"_He talks about you all the time," Bucky called out to Peggy Carter, the woman of his best friend's affections._

"_Does he," her lilting accent inquired from halfway down the bar counter._

"_She's really something, Buck, a real good shot," he laughed._

"_Oh."_

_Her expression crumbled._

"_I'm kidding, lady. He's got the hots for ya, I say! I tell him, "You like this cookie, pipsqueak, ya oughta tell her before you ship out!"_

"_He… 'likes' me, Mr. Barnes?"_

"_Heck yeah, he does," Bucky chortled._

The soldier's eyes returned to focus as Sharon struggled to get free.

"Sharon Carter…"

"That's my name, don't wear it out. Now if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to be able to breathe more easily."

His grip loosened and she slid back against her own chair.

"Enough chit-chat, Sharon. Why are you here? You have one minute."

"Steve and I heard about your little trip through Pennsylvania last week."

"It was a food run."

"You castrated a guy for looking at you funny and then shot up a store because the manager thought you were high."

"It was Tuesday. I don't like Tuesdays. Still haven't answered my question. Ten seconds."

"We're trying to get you back, Barnes," she blurted.

He just stared at her, his dead eyes making her squirm. He loved watching targets squirm. They know they're about to due but not how or where their killer is. The sense of authority, the raw power, it gave him was awe-inspiring.

"Have you ever held a man's life in your hand, Sharon Carter?"

"Haven't had to."

"Awfully vague. I'm getting a very standoffish vibe."

"I'm on assignment. Small talk isn't my first priority, Barnes."

He slammed his hand of flesh on the table.

"Stop calling me that!"

His uninvited guest straightened, tensing, fearful.

"Do you really think you can take me in," he challenged. He smiled then, and almost immediately his face went slack again.

_Winter Soldier doesn't smile, he doesn't do small talk. He gets orders, and he follows them until the objective is attained. But this isn't a mission, is it? This is a pretty girl who seems very damaged wanting to help you. Help you remember who you are? But why does that matter? Whoever the hell is Bucky guy is, he's immaterial. But Bucky is me! I'm Bucky! No, I'm the Winter Soldier…_

_Perhaps I am both._

"I can try," she accepted.

"You have one week to convince me that with you and the Star-Spangled Idealist is where I belong. After that, you're dead."

"Deal, Barnes. You got yourself a deal."


	3. Chapter 3: Day Two

"**Day Two"**

Sam Wilson was not usually given to working with former government agents. In his experience, they were often designated "former" for a _very, __**VERY **_good reason. These people were the exception. After the explosive end of Project Insight and the dismantling of S.H.I.E.L.D., Sam had instantly offered to help Steve find the lost-and-roaming Winter Soldier. He could see that the man who the Soldier used to be had meant a lot to Steve, and Sam was always one to help the downtrodden and confused. Despite his avowed rejection of his hard-lined Lutheran upbringing in favor of a more humanistic lifestyle, he found the values introduced during his youth never failed to guide him even in the darkest of times. For that, he was grateful. These values immediately sent out a "these people are the good guys" message when he first met Steve and Natasha, their super heroics aside. Genuinely good souls, trying to get past their emotional baggage, trying to make the world a better place. That stuck out to Sam, and so he endeavored to make these last few weeks of searching count. His current assignment was surveillance. In the woods. In a massive black truck.

"Yeah, so inconspicuous," Sam grumbled to himself.

The door flew open and Sam whipped out his gun, swiveling around his chair. Sharon's hands flew up.

"Don't scare me like that," Sam gasped.

"Sorry. Find anything useful?"

Sharon directed her attention to the huge monitor in front of Sam. Various versions of Bucky's house's interior were at the forefront. Hidden cameras. They switched to thermal, and then to some other setting whose name escaped the Carter lass. Sam noticed the confusion on her face.

"Sharon, you okay," he inquired.

"Yes."

A lie, and they both knew it. Sharon had been forgetting small details for the last few days. Bucky's age and the vague war stories that Steve had told her. The names of things. Little trifles, but unlike Sharon.

"You haven't been straight with me since you met Barnes the other night. Where's your head at?"

"In the game. I had better get back. He's expecting me to give him another pep talk soon."

"Report back to me every ninety minutes, Sharon. Steve won't be too happy if anything happens to you."

"I know," her eyes flickered with a sense of pride as she hopped out of the vehicle.

Bucky awaited the frazzled woman in the living room. He drummed his flesh-and-blood fingers on the arm of his cushioned chair.

"Don't bother denying it. I know you and Sam Wilson have been spying on me since long before you arrived."

"Barnes-"

Bucky rose, his metal hand clenching. Threatening. Imposing. Constantly between terrifying rage and mechanical serenity, much like Bucky himself. He stepped toward her, smirking as Sharon gripped her gun a little tighter. Sick pleasure. He reveled in the idea of her trying to defend herself against him.

"The idea of that scenario," Bucky grinned, "excites me to no end. Perhaps it can be a little present to the good Captain. A reminder of with whom he is dealing."

The psychotic smile he flashed shook Sharon to her very core. It was something out of a horror movie.

She backed up.

He moved forward.

Sharon felt her spine hit the wall.

Bucky's metal arm snatched the weapon from her grasp before she could process what was happening and tossed it aside.

Her breathing hitched.

Bucky leaned in, his cold eyes boring into her own. So close the two agents were. Their lips inches apart…

"I don't take lies all that well, Miss Carter," Bucky growled.

He sighed. Smiled a genuine smile. Stepped back. Sat back down.

"What the hell," Sharon spat.

"Had to make sure you weren't wired. I'm rather surprised that you are not. Then again, I am sure that the not-so-hidden hidden cameras do the required job."

He gave a mock salute to the nearest one he could make out.

"You need to be better about your surveillance. It's crap. Especially for a former government agent."

"They were installed prior to your arrival. The previous tenants were paranoid," Sharon explained.

"So S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't above hiring hackers, huh?"

"No, we were not. Said hacker is actually quite gifted. Used to be a part of an organization called Rising Tide."

"I am familiar with them. I kneecapped their leader after he mouthed off to me."

"How surprising," Sharon deadpanned.

"She does have a sense of humor, however dry," Bucky cried.

He punched the air like someone who'd just won a bet with lottery-sized stakes and stuck his tongue out at thin air. The look that earned him was not flattering.

"You have something to say, Carter?"

"No."

"Good. You lost a day already. Six more days to convince me."

"Five."

"I'm being generous and not counting all of today."

"Why are you being so-"

"You need to get back to Steve so I can sulk in peace and try to figure out why I am who I am, maybe how to fix it. I don't like wasting a good woman's time, and I can see that you're a good woman. Also, you're knocked up."

"Excuse me?"

"You're pregnant. I noticed the guarded way you have been carrying yourself around me, much more so than a normal person would behave when alone with me. I'm assuming Steve doesn't know, assuming that it _is_ his. Also, your boobs-"

"Hey! Thought you were a classic gentleman? What gives?"

"I am a gracious host, or at least I was and I wanna be again. Gotta make your stay entertaining, don't I? Adopting a modern attitude seemed to be the best way to do that. Now come on. Sit me down. Talk to me. Convince me some more."

This conversation was being observed by a second individual, one with much less noble intentions for the pair in the cabin. He gazed at Sharon and Bucky, in turn, through his crosshairs.

"I can be patient," Crossbones sighed as he wiped blood onto his pant leg.

Behind him, a trussed-up and gagged Sam coughed pathetically.


	4. Who Am I? AKA Bucky I

He woke in the dark. Sweating, pale. Afraid… not knowing who was with him. He knew not who was watching over him, or if there anyone with him at all. But he didn't need to be with someone to be watched over. He was always in the company of another.

"I just need to figure out who the original is, and then try and separate the original and the new guy," he whispered to himself on an almost nightly basis.

It was a constant struggle within his mind, within his soul. Did he even have a soul, or was that sucked out the moment HYDRA wiped and froze him the first time? Has it been eroded by the fifty plus murders committed by the man with his hands? Is it intact? Does the man wearing Bucky Barnes' face even believe in a soul? Does he believe in God, in the devil, in angels or demons, heaven or hell? Karma? Samsara? The Buddha? YHWH? Circumcision? The divinity of nature? Where did he swing politically? Conservative or liberal, republican or democrat? Vaccinations, yay or nay? Homosexuality, a damning sin or just another part of the huge spectrum that comprises human nature? Is abortion a woman's choice, and when if ever is it acceptable? Is it murder, and for that matter is euthanasia? Did he like Obama's politics? The guy would be out of office by the following November (January if splitting hairs), so what did he care?

What did he care?

_What did he care?_

_WhaT DID he Care?_

What did he care?

_**WHAT DID HE CARE?**_

His name was not Bucky Barnes. His name was not the Winter Soldier, either. Or perhaps it was one or the other. No one knew anymore, not even him. The metal arm told him he wasn't Bucky, but his independent thoughts and memories told him he wasn't the Winter Soldier. To say he was confused would be the understatement of the century. Perhaps young Sharon Carter, impregnated by his enemy, a kindred spirit in terms of lost feelings and existential loneliness, would put him back on the right track, to help him figure out who he was.

But first, he must know himself. Who is this man wearing Bucky Barnes' face? In truth, perhaps he was three people condensed into one mind and body: Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier, and the man wearing Bucky's face, his body, his whole being in fact.

He must know himself.

He got up, rummaged through his desk to find a pen and notepad, and began writing questions. The answers would come later, when he figures out all the questions, but the first was perhaps the most obvious:

_**WHO. OR WHAT. AM. I?**_


	5. Crossbones and Sam

_June 14__th__, 2014._

_The day hell birthed its most vicious demon._

_Birthed is perhaps too polite a term._

_Spewed. Vomited._

_A man so vile that hell itself spat him back out. TWICE._

_Whoever he used to be, the man he was now was indubitably unfathomably worse._

_If one could even call him a man._

_A silent killing machine, devoid of emotion._

_Strong, powerful._

_His arms and legs had been amputated and replaced with vibranium prosthetics, much like the arm of the Soldier who had come before him. The Winter Soldier, who had weeks before gone off the radar, around the end of April. He saved America's Poster Boy for Goodness and slipped quietly into obscurity. Now HYDRA needed a new fist, a new hammer to nail the undesirables into the ground so deeply that they would never rise again._

_His masters hadn't counted on the man- codenamed Crossbones by the media- still regaining a bit of his own personality._

_Namely his bloodlust and desire for vengeance against those who he deemed as having wronged him._

_Namely, the remnants of S.H.I.E.L.D._

_Fury, Carter, Hill, unofficially Wilson, the list goes on._

_He remembered Wilson. The scrawny little Negro punk who almost outclassed him in the Triskelion that fateful day. He could use more colorful language to describe his opponent, but that would cause others to paint him as racist, classist, elitist, whatever you wanna call it. He didn't mind._

_Why Crossbones? That's for his enemies to figure out when he guts them horribly. Kills them without mercy, like a dreaded pirate out at sea. Carving his signature into them and claiming his bounty, leaving them for local law enforcement to find._

_He'd been classified as a serial killer before the first week was out, and oh how he adored that attention._

_Downright orgasmic, it was._

PRESENT DAY

Sam awoke back in the truck. Alone. Bloody, his wrists broken. He suspected the man squatting in front of him was the man responsible for that. Oh, wait, he was!

"Hey, asshat," Sam grunted.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Crossbones growled.

The dude wore a mask.

And worse, it had a white 'X' on it. Cheesy.

Sam hated masks on principle.

"That supposed to be some symbolism or something," Sam gasped.  
"You could call it that. They call me Crossbones for a reason, not just my marks."

"Carving those big crossbones into people's chests and faces like they're a damn pirate flag? You got issues, man," Sam chortled. "I know they're not random. I know they're ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. HYDRA got you under their thumb?"

"Used to. Strucker and Zemo got a little over-the-top for my tastes. I'm freelance now. Sorta."

"Who the hell is Zemo?"

"Not your concern. I need you to get a message to Carter for me."

"No way in hell-"  
Sam lurched forward, but stopped upon feeling a tenderness right behind his ears.

"You like that? Little shock microchips. Like one of those collars they put on dogs to make them stay within parameters but worse. You deviate from your directives, they short out the nerves connecting your brain to your spinal cord. You'll either be a quadriplegic or a vegetable sitting in your own piss and shit. Maybe both. I'd like to see both."

If this Crossbones were smiling, Sam couldn't tell. The guy was a sadistic piece of work, he knew that.

"Now, about that message…"

"What do you want me to say?"


	6. Day Seven

Sharon lounged in a recliner in front of the flat screen television, casually flipping through channels. The man with no identity but she insisted on referring to as 'James Buchanan Barnes' stared out the window at the other end of the room. The sun rose in his face, but he seemed largely unfazed by it.

"Time's up, Carter. It's been seven days. Haven't seen or heard of Sam Wilson lately."

"That's kind of the point of espionage, Barnes."

"Have you told Steve yet?"

"Told him…?"

"The baby."

"You gonna kill me or not?"

_Deflection_, he thought. _Smart woman._ He smiled to himself and flopped down on the couch, trying to appear as nonthreatening as possible. And so they sat like this, in awkward silence, each putting off deciding what to do with the other.

_**Sharon stared down at the two pink lines clearly visible on the test in her hand.**_

"_**Sharon? You okay in there," came Steve's concerned intonation.**_

"_**Yeah. Just a minute!"**_

"_**I'll be in the kitchen doing the dishes."**_

_**She smiled to herself. He's such a good man, and a good fighter. A symbol of hope, of the importance of faith, of love and loyalty to one's country. A perfect amalgamation if these symbols distilled into human form and given life. He would be a good father, Sharon knew, but she was also far too keenly aware that knowledge of impending fatherhood would shift his worldview radically toward her and the being growing inside of her for the foreseeable future. He couldn't be an Avenger and a dad at the same time, could he?**_

"_**Perhaps it is better to not tell him," Sharon whispered to herself.**_

Sam's mind whirled, Crossbones' message still clear as a bell. Rattling around on endless loop, like a broken record or an ITunes song. Tell Sharon (and by extension Steve) and risk everything the mission has worked for, and remain quiet and either die an excruciatingly painful death or be a vegetable. Several world leaders had long since uncovered his involvement in the Triskelion conflict that led to the destruction of three helicarriers (highly classified and expensive government property) and the demise of over 300 government personnel, both HYDRA and S.H.I.E.L.D alike, and they would like very much for him to spend his life in a federal prison followed shortly by a needle and a pine box. At the same time, he was military personnel, an Afghanistan vet. He deserved respect for foiling a terrorist plot to control the population through fear and death. The ultimate threat to freedom, and he helped stop it! But now was his time to decide. Not because of his conflicted conscience, but because of the cold barrel of a gun pressed against the base of his skull.

"Here's a little extra incentive, [racist slur redacted]," he would later recall the Crossbones Killer sneering at him.

"Come on, Wilson, hurry it up," the man yelled.

Sam activated the communicator in his wristwatch.

"Sharon?"

"Yes, Sam," the blonde inquired.

"On your left."

The serial killer hesitated, both in speaking and pulling the trigger, but only momentarily.

This moment was all that was needed.

The door to the truck was ripped from his hinges and Crossbones was violently pulled from the vehicle by a vibranium arm.

The gun fell to the floor.

_**BANG!**_


	7. Interlude

Sam woke up to find himself lying in a hospital bed, Steve at his bedside. "Talk about a role reversal," Sam joked. "You catch the bastard, Steve?"

"You had some pretty bad internal bleeding, Sam. We almost didn't get you to the ER in time. And not yet, but we're working on it," Steve said solemnly. "He and Bucky are both in the wind. Sharon and Natasha are after them."

"Steve… has she told you? Has Sharon told you?"

"Told me what?"

"She, um… it's not my place, man. She'll tell you when she's ready."

"Get some rest, buddy." Steve squeezed Sam's shoulder, smiled at him, and left him be.

As a matter of fact, Sharon and Natasha were sitting outside the hospital, waiting for Steve.

"There's that fossil you were hoping to pick up, Carter," Natasha smirked upon seeing Steve exit the building, earning a playful punch to the shoulder from her blonde compatriot.

"Hey, you," Sharon called, waving. Steve gave her a quick peck on the cheek before climbing into the back of the van.

Soon enough, the trio were literally riding off into the sunset… that was until Steve heard a faint ticking next to him. "What is that?"

He gave the entire back half of the van a once-over and finally located the source of the noise: his jacket pocket.

"Get down!"

He covered his chest and _dove _from the vehicle, but he was too late.

The back half of the vehicle erupted in flames and careened off the road, hitting a telephone pole. Everything from the engine back was smashed.

Sharon's head was bleeding profusely, and Natasha was more than a little scratched up.

"Come on, Carter," Nat whispered to the agent who's consciousness was about as dependable in this moment as Schrodinger's cat.

Steve swiftly returned to his fellows and helped Natasha carry Sharon a safe distance away as the car exploded.

"Baby…" Sharon mumbled.

"I'm here, Sharon, it's gonna be okay," Steve assured her, setting her down as gently as possible.

"No. Baby…" Sharon clarified.

"What?" Steve stood there for a long while, speechless.

"She asked Sam and I not to tell you," Nat admitted.


	8. August 2018

Over four years had passed. Since then, Steve had aided his team in defeating a powerful AI known as Ultron and had split the same team down the middle all to ensure that Bucky was safe and secure. Going against his comrades for the sake of his best friend. Not something Steve ever thought himself capable of doing, but James Buchanan Barnes was the final vestige of his old life; the man who he looked up to most in this modern world. Whatever happened, he always knew that Bucky would come through in the end.

Currently, Steve, Sam, Wanda, and Scott were in hiding in Wakanda while Bucky had decided to return to cryonic suspension for the foreseeable future. Being given sanctuary by the King of Wakanda had its perks, but the splintered group longed for the return to some form of duty. They hadn't dared use their abilities (technologically-granted or otherwise) to help the people of Wakanda for fear of being tailed by UN officials who were on the hunt for them, but the team resolved to aid their host country in other ways. Being spotted could mean a military effort to bring in the foursome. "Terrorists" wasn't officially what they were considered, but in Steve's eyes the official designation of "traitor to his country" stung all the same. More so, even. A man without a proper home, Steve often spent his nights standing alone outside of the small one-room hut the team had built for themselves. The more off the grid, the better off they were. At least, this was Steve's rationalization. Tonight, however, Wanda had elected to join him.

"Couldn't sleep?" Both asked simultaneously.

"Not really," they replied.

"Double jinx," Wanda laughed. It was good, the first genuine bit of heartiness either of them had experienced in a good long while.

"So I heard you saved some of T'Challa's troops from a landmine the other day," Wanda praised him.

"I heard you delivered a baby yesterday," Steve smiled back at her. "How'd that go?"

"It went very well. His mother was very calm, very in tune with her body. I was called in after her water had broken and was only there for maybe six hours after that; then he came screaming into the world in this little back room in a little makeshift hospital. It was astonishing, how one human organ can grow such a complex thing as an infant in so little time. I like to think that if I ever have a son, then I would name him Pietro after my brother. Or Peter, the Anglicanized version."

"That sounds great, Wanda. Sounds like you've found your calling."

"And what of you, Steve Rogers? Have you found your calling yet?"

"I'm a soldier. Always have been, always will be. If I can make a difference here, then I remind myself that I can make a difference anywhere. I was always taught that one good man is priceless in this cruel world."

"You think the world is cruel?"

"As of late, I do. The White Gorilla Cult's activities have risen and that Ulysses Klaue fellow moved against T'Challa six months back."

"We haven't really heard from him since."

"And he's the better for it."

"Have you heard anything from Sharon? It's been so long…"

"No, no. I haven't. I'm not entirely sure I want to; the people trying to get to me could use her and I don't want that for her."

"Crossbones has been dead for over two years, Steve, and I'm pretty sure Tony has forgiven you."

"It's not Crossbones or Tony I'm worried about. Thor went into space to find out as much as he could about the Infinity Stones. What if whatever he's found has killed him and is coming here?"

"Don't be preposterous-"

"Maybe whatever sent Loki here is after the Stones."

"Scott wanted me to tell you he found a way home."

"What?"

"He's going back to New York, Steve."

"Did he sell out?"

"Nothing like that."

"I'm happy for him, I am. He should get to be happy."

"So should you, Steve. I'm going to turn in, I'll see you in the morning."

**December 2014**

_Sharon absently wandered into the earnest nursery she and Nat had prepared. As she traced her fingers along the crib and the rocking chair, tiny rivulets of tears began flowing… at first so subtly that she barely noticed them. As she wiped away the salty liquid, she stared into what was to be the crib of her and Steve's child. Now a relic to a fantasy, she sat alone in the rocking chair. Knowing a miscarriage was no easy thing to process, she was also keenly aware that she couldn't persist like this forever. With this in mind, she picked up the phone and called Nat._

"_I'm ready to come back in, Natasha. I am."_


	9. Bucky II

It was horridly cold and lonely there, in this place that Bucky had decided to remain for the foreseeable future. Cold being the primary thing, even though he couldn't physically feel what was going on, as he knew in the back of his mind that he was back in cryosleep. He was roughly aware of time passing; that was the main difference between HYDRA's cryosleep and Wakanda's. In the end, was it all the same? The soldier was still there, gnawing and biting away at the edges of Bucky's mind. He was asleep but simultaneously awake. There was a dim pinprick, a sort of eternally far-away horizon that signified freedom.

A light at the end of the tunnel that stayed the same distance away no matter how much closer Bucky thought he came to it.

Some days, he was vaguely aware of being moved around. In those moments, when he thought he had the willpower to wake up of his own volition, the Winter Soldier would return. Taunting, jesting, beating him into submission. It was always the same, every day and night. Besides, Bucky knew cryonics didn't work that way: he would have to be thawed out by someone who either loved him as a person or wanted to use him as a human weapon. Wasn't that the point, though, the whole reason he went back under in the first place? To fight through and defeat HYDRA's programming? He was no longer content to just sit and wait until a cure could be found or manufactured. No, he would take an active part in his own psychological and emotional salvation. James Buchanan Barnes recalled telling Tony Stark that he "remembered them all," and it was the truth. His murders of Howard and Maria Stark, a beating and a neck snap, were etched into his memory as clear as day. Just like everything else he had done with he was their bitch. Nothing stood out from the rest, nothing was special. It was all one long stream of atrocities, one after another after another after another. His hands were stained with more blood than the whole of humanity had in their veins. Whenever the haunting memories returned, when the Winter Soldier mocked him with the monstrous actions he performed while wearing Bucky's face, the American trooper often considered slipping away into the vast nothingness of his own mind, to let the Winter Soldier take over permanently. It would be so easy, so fucking easy, and painless. Barnes died decades ago anyway, right?

Right?

_Right?_

_**RIGHT?!**_

But if that was true, then why did the have the indomitable need to keep going, something he didn't have much of when he was with Steve again, really with him again, back in Russia? He owed it to himself, to Steve, to Sharon even, to at least try. So try he would.

"Hey! Active duty!"

The Soldier turned to him, his eyes emotionless. Strangely, despite the outward emotionless quality of the Soldier's gaze, his eyes were burning with an intense hatred. A contempt. A dark sadism hid behind that smile. Darker than any b-movie serial killer. Darker than Ed Gein, or all of the fictitious murderers that were inspired by him. Darker than Jeffrey Dahmer, or Charles Manson.

He charged at Bucky, who flipped over him and got him in a headlock. They'd done this so many times now and it always had the same outcome: Bucky practically dying, windpipe being crushed under the Winter Soldier's heel.

Not. This. Time.

Now their positioned were gloriously reversed.

Bucky kept the soldier in a vice grip, maintaining pressure no matter how often or how hard the Soldier rammed his elbows into Bucky's ribs or stomach. Nothing would shake him this time, no matter what the abomination tried.

"You don't get to win every time, buster."

He squeezed until the Soldier stopped moving, went limp in his arms. Bucky turned to go, then the Soldier wouldn't let him.

"You think it's gonna be that easy," he growled in Russian.

"Nope," Bucky smiled, a mirth in his eyes.

Bucky punched the Soldier, the Soldier blocked.

The Soldier kicked, he blocked.

Flurries of punches, kicks, sweeps, the whole shebang; an endless cycle of blocks and landed hits. That was the problem when you were literally fighting yourself, or rather an evil version of yourself. You knew all of each other's moves.

The light seemed to be getting closer. Strange, but Bucky had no intention of letting what could be his one chance at freedom slip away. Besides, there now seemed to be some sort of warmth permeating the atmosphere. What the hell could that be, what was it, what could it mean?

No…

_He had been removed from suspended animation!_

No way in hell was he allowing this monster control of his body again.

"August. 1991. 52 kills, maybe more. Only 26 linked to you, Sergeant Barnes," the Winter Soldier spoke in a mixture of Zola and Zemo's voices.

Tackling the Soldier, he straddled him and wrapped his hands around his (own?) neck, pressing down and clenching as hard as he could.

The Soldier's face turned red, he sputtered, choking.

"You don't control me anymore," he told the personification of his old programming.

The Winter Soldier did his best to respond, to ultimately no avail.

It turned blue-ish. Then fully blue.

Then he stopped.

Bucky blinked and the Soldier's corpse vanished.

"Oh god," he looked over his shoulder.

The light was moving away.

He got up and sprinted for it. It moved away, faster and faster. He had to catch up with it. He sucked in a deep breath and ran faster still, reaching out.

After an eternity, the light seemed to stop.

He touched it. Entered it with his arm.

He stepped through it.

Bucky Barnes had no clue where he was, but he was dimly aware of the cold sensation of laying on a metal table. He tried to move his arms, but they were strapped down.

"No! No! You can't do this to me again!"

A woman was by his side in a heartbeat. Though his vision was blurred, he could make out blonde hair and what appeared to be a SHIELD insignia on her jacket.

His vision focused.

"Sharon?"

"I'm right here, Bucky. It's okay, you're safe now."

He grabbed onto her, sobbing into her chest.

He didn't intend to ever let go.

He didn't know if he could even if he wanted to.

For the record, Sharon felt the same.


	10. August 1991

_The Starks wouldn't be murdered for another four months. What no one knew was that the night of the murders was not the only time that year that the Winter Soldier was resuscitated._

_August of 1991 was not a pleasant time for the man formerly known as James Buchanan Barnes._

_It was cold, there was death in the air all around him. He thought he was used to it by now. Suppose not._

_The parameters were simple enough, the usual: locate and eliminate._

_His target was someone known only as "The Black King"._

_The Winter Soldier traveled to a small area in New York that month. A place called Christ's Crown._

_There was a foreboding presence, the Soldier could feel it. What the hell was going on here, what was this place? If this locale was evil, then why was HYDRA trying to cleanse it? He didn't ask questions he didn't want the answer to. Hell, he hardly asked questions anyway. Anytime he did ended up in shock treatment and going back in the box. An altogether unpleasant experience. It was close to midnight when the Soldier arrived. He had a hand on his gun at all times as he inched ever closer to the center of the area, toward the epicenter of the disturbance. Something wasn't right, it was dark here. Magic-type dark, if he believed in such things._

_Half an hour later, he finally got a good look at his target and he couldn't believe his eyes:_

_A tall figure, about seven feet. Black skin, like a bull. A tail coming from right above his rear end. When the being turned and stared directly into the Soldier's eyes, it was all the confirmation the assassin needed to know that his mark was not in the least bit human._

"_What the fuck," he cursed in Russian._

"_Greetings and salutations, Sergeant Barnes," the monster spoke. Perhaps most unnerving to the Winter Soldier was that although this beast had the power of speech, it possessed no mouth from which to speak. At least not one the mortal could see. "How good of you to join me. I have been waiting. The other enhanced humans were not so fortunate as to have the common sense to stay away. I am Blackheart and I can help you."_

_Blackheart. A name that would haunt Bucky's nightmares for years to come._

_The Winter Soldier automatically fired three shots into Blackheart's skull but the projectiles passed through him as if through mist._

"_A pity."_

_And the thing launched itself at the man, sending him flying with one punch. The Soldier got up, only to be punched and kicked down again. He was succinctly pummeled into submission, on the verge of losing consciousness. Blackheart got in his face._

"_You could have broken free of those cretins who control you. With me, you could eliminate all of your adversaries with your free will intact. But now you have forced my hand."_

_The Winter Soldier passed out before anything could happen, but when he woke up the monster was gone._

_When he woke up, he was back in Russia, strapped to a table._

_Then there were the volts of electricity and the searing pain._

_The Winter Soldier bit down on his mouth guard and once more all was black._


End file.
